


Campfire Confessions

by pikkugen



Category: Elenium/Tamuli Series - David & Leigh Eddings
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikkugen/pseuds/pikkugen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Berit and Khalad are travelling in the desert, both learn something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Campfire Confessions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elyssblair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyssblair/gifts).



> Thanks for my beta! All errors (and certain liberties of the story) are my fault.

Khalad had built a fire for the night, out of whatever scraps and ends he could find in the desert (Berit was sure he couldn't have found anything to burn there) and was now busy preparing the supper. Berit was meticulously sharpening and oiling of his sword, more out of boredom than need, and listened to the contended munching of the horses nearby. The routine was familiar: make camp, take care of the horses, then start a fire, make supper, and then stay up talking until both felt tired enough to sleep. 

The directions they had gotten from Sparhawk after leaving Vigayo had been clear enough; the caravan road was less travelled but still a good path to follow through the shifting sands. Sometimes Berit wondered how Khalad could tell the caravan route from any other patch of sand, map or no map. The young squire would just shrug and say, "It's obvious" or something like that if Berit asked. 

Quietly, Berit was certain that at least half of Sparhawk's fame as Sparhawk was due to the competence of his squires, first Kurik and now Khalad, who was never far from his side. The first time Berit had impersonated Sparhawk all those years ago with Kurik he hadn't been half as frightened of the prospect of someone following them, thanks to Kurik's unwavering confidence and his unmatched efficiency. This time Berit hadn't been quite convinced, until Khalad had demonstrated his father's uncanny ability to pick a perfect camping place and find shelter and food in a strange environment. Ever since Berit had fallen asleep peacefully, listening to the young squire's heavy breathing on the other side of the tent, knowing there weren't many things that could surprise them on the way to wherever the Queen was being held.

All he needed to do was to keep the enemy thinking they had really cheated Sparhawk into following a trail of false leads in search of her Queen - and to provide the necessary magic en route. For all his other skills, Khalad couldn't make a decent spell to call Aphrael or to make sure they weren't followed. Sometimes Berit wondered idly just how magnificent a knight Khalad would one day make, if he could ever be persuaded to take the vows. And learn enough Styric to be able to do magic, obviously. Berit had to admit his linguistic skills weren't that great. He still spoke only passable Tamuli, despite Aphrael and Sephrenia's teaching.

They had both been happy to leave Vigayo; it was a miserable place, and the latest messenger hadn't actually been too pleasant and left them with a vulnerable feeling. Like he always did after receiving a message, Berit kept the lock of pale golden hair in his pocket for the day, or until it either tangled hopelessly or snatched by the ever-blowing wind. Khalad eyed him strangely for this, but hadn't commented on the habit. It seemed like somehow the thought of Berit having a piece of Sparhawk's wife in his pocket set Khalad's teeth on edge. 

Of course it was something Sparhawk would do; Khalad would have served his master for long enough to know Sparhawk was deeply and wordlessly in love with his beautiful wife. Still, something in Berit's way of emulating the older knight rubbed him the wrong way. After getting the evening meal together, he finally confronted the younger knight.

"You seem really attached to those locks of hair they keep sending." 

Berit jumped and let the tangled hair fall from his fingers. 

"It's... I thought it would be what Sparhawk would do."

"You wouldn't need to be so fussy about it", grumbled the squire over his last bites of dried deer meat.

Berit looked at him. "Just what is ailing you, Khalad? It's a lock of hair. I may have been a little... obsessed with it, but it's not like there is much else to do during the journey."

Khalad just grunted. 

"Besides it's not like I'm actually... I mean, I may have been a little infatuated with her when I first saw her, but she's Sparhawk's wife and my Queen. It's not like I have any other mementoes to hold on to. From... anyone."

"Nothing from that Valesian lady?"

Berit blushed faintly. "You mean Empress Elysoun? No, she doesn't believe in mementoes. It's not... significant in her culture, anyway." 

"Well, you're the ladies' man." Khalad poked at the fire needlessly.

Berit kept on blushing. "Not... really. You just... don't say no to Elysoun, you know. I... just... really, you know, she kind of jumped me and since we were supposed to be very polite to her, and all... look, it's not like I'm going to marry her or anything. She's already married, for God's sake!" He breathed heavily for a while, trying to calm down. 

Khalad just stared into the fire. His face was unfathomable. Then suddenly Berit asked: "You ever thought of getting married, Khalad?"

The squire sucked in his cheeks and shook his head. "No. Not the marrying kind." 

"Really? Not even a sweetheart somewhere? Anyone you fancy?"

"Nuh-uh. Well..." He stared at the fire for a while and hesitated, gave a quick look at Berit from the corner of his eye and said slowly: "Remember Mirtai's story? Her nicest owner?" 

Berit's eyes widened and helooked like he was about to blurt out something but managed to rein himself in. "You mean... oh." 

There was a long and awkward silence.

"Problem with that?" Khalad was aware that his voice was rougher than usually.

"No... no, not at all. None of my business. Sorry I asked." Berit's eyes never left his empty plate. He was wearing Sparhawk's face, but Khalad could easily imagine the young knight's huge eyes and impossibly long lashes in the firelight. His fair and untarnished face instead of Sparhawk's familiar weatherworn features and the broken nose. Something of his earnestness and certain innocence leaked through, unless he was being careful. Khalad sighed and turned away to scrub the pot and his plate clean for the morning.

" I guess... I never really thought of it that way." Berit's words came through the soft scrape of sand against the plate. 

"Thought of what?" Khalad asked almost in spite of himself. He put the dishes away and turned back to the fire.

"That one could have... other options. As I said, I thought that was why one became a knight of the Church. To avoid marrying. I just never really saw girls that way, you know, like Bevier does. It pains him, obviously. He thinks it's impious and wrong and a knight of the faith should be chaste, and he can't... It was never that hard for me." He blushed crimson. Khalad couldn't tear his gaze away from his face. "Of course I had that crush on Queen Ehlana, but I think it was mainly because... well, she is beautiful. And she was quite helpless at the time. And she was... unobtainable. Safe. That's what I was looking for, I think. Someone I could be infatuated with, and never have to admit it to anyone or act on it."

Khalad was very quiet. He was practically forcing Berit to speak with his silence.

"And then there was Elysoun. She's a good girl... in the context. I'm afraid I was something of a disappointment to her. I really don't... didn't... still don't know what to do with... you know." He stumbled to a halt. "I'm not sure I'd know what to do with a man, either," he offered suddenly, clearly embarrassed and made Khalad to jump involuntarily.

"So... you have been thinking... about it?" Khalad found himself saying.

Berit turned his eyes away, saying nothing. His face was in shadow. They sat quietly watching the fire until it waned into embers; then Berit rose stiffly and went to the tent. When Khalad followed him inside, he was already lying on his bedding facing the wall. His back was ramrod and his breathing uneven. Khalad shrugged out of his sleeveless leather vest, kicked off his boots and settled down to sleep more noisily than strictly necessary. They both slept badly that night.

The next day the wind rose. It flapped their cloaks and stung their eyes with sand, and Khalad decided it would be sensible to make camp early that night. They still had some water left. He was counting on finding more when they reached the hills, but tonight it would be madness to press on further that night. 

They hadn't spoken much during the day; the words of the previous night were still standing between them like a wall. They made camp in silence and rigged some of the canvas to protect the horses. Khalad persuaded Faran to stand on a corner to keep it from flapping and letting sand into their nostrils. 

"He's a smart one; he'll be standing on it till the morning unless the wind dies down," he explained to Berit's puzzled look. They settled into their now smaller tent to eat some of the dried meat; it was no use trying to light a fire. 

Berit sat on his bedding uncomfortably close to Khalad's well-muscled form, nibbling his ration of lean meat and watching the squire work some grease into his saddle. The desert air had already started to crease the leather; soon it would crack unless it was tended. Khalad's hands worked on the stiff leather patiently and skillfully, making it soft and supple again, and suddenly Berit found himself thinking about what else he might be able to do with equal skill. He blushed, and the tiny tent became insufferably close. 

Of course Khalad looked up from his work just then. He saw Berit's face, and the end of his mouth curved into a tiny smile. With small, efficient movements he put the saddle away, wiped his hands and deliberately slowly began stripping off his vest. Berit swallowed and looked on; tiny beads of sweat begun to form on his upper lip. When the vest was off, Khalad lifted one hand and very lightly stroked the young knight's face. The touch was tender and light, giving him a chance to pull away if he so wished. Berit closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard. He grasped the hand before it was pulled away, and kissed it as his eyes opened to meet Khalad's gaze. 

"Ah", said Khalad very quietly and leaned towards him. His mouth was hard and hungry and tasted of dried meat, and his rough black beard tickled Berit's skin. It felt right. His big, calloused hands felt right, stripping off his clothes, searching Berit's naked body for tender spots, finding every scar, every muscle, every nerve ending that made him gasp and return every caress. His hard body felt right, in a way Elysoun's soft, rounded curves never had, lying on top of him, shivering with desire. Everything else - everything - their hoarse breathing in unison and the slickness of the saddle grease, the taste of him and the dark musk of his skin. Even his awkwardness at first felt right, as did his newfound daring when their passion rose again. 

In the end Berit had to admit Khalad had some sensational skills, although his linguistics weren't among them. That was still something Berit knew better.


End file.
